


Lure and Trap

by MisterBroflovski



Category: Megadeth
Genre: Addiction, Drug Abuse, Drugs, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Overdose, Rehabilitation, bad influence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-08 01:40:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11071383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MisterBroflovski/pseuds/MisterBroflovski
Summary: It's no surprise that David has taken after Dave in many ways. Dave follows a dangerous path of unapologetic self-destruction, and David follows steps behind. Having taken things too far, David is the last man standing, and he is the only one putting in the effort to change. However, Dave hates to see his running partner fall under this way. He'll do anything he can to have someone in his corner again, even if that means ending David's sobriety.





	Lure and Trap

**Author's Note:**

> A little strange seeing something from me that falls out of my formula, eh? This idea was born after watching Megadeth "Behind the Music" again, and I'm pretty excited for it. This doesn't mean I'm giving up on my other stories, but I certainly need a few breaks and refreshers to put in my best work into every department. Enjoy!

{Journal Entry: 1}

It is in an uneasy state that I find myself writing this. They said that it would be in my best interest to keep a journal and hopefully stay sane in the process. I'm shaking. I can't seem to write a single straight letter, but I'm doing what I've been told. 

I'd much rather write than talk, and I guess I can just leave this lying around for whoever wants to see what the fuck I'm thinking. I'll tell them what happened, sure. But from an objective point of view. Do they really need to know how bad this fucked me up? Can't they just assume? It's unhealthy to assume the worst, but in this case?

Well, assuming the worst would make them correct. 

I can clearly remember my mom saying, "David, if you go down to California, they will taint you. You'll get into drugs and booze and you won't even know until it's too late." You never really think twice about warnings like that, especially not from your mom, but here I fucking am. She's seen me dope sick before and I have been far sicker than this, but I'm not really in here for me, am I? 

Dave's still passed out cold. He fell asleep not long ago. He looks a hell of a lot better than he did before, but if I hadn't seen him dancing with death, I would think he was damn near embalmed. He's in the bunk under me, curled up around his blanket. His hair is hiding most of his face but the fucker snores pretty loud so I know he's out. He must be freezing, even in that Samhain sweatshirt. They really crank up the AC in here don't they?

I suppose this isn't exactly making a whole lot of sense. Yeah, OK, I tend to ramble. There's not much else to do in rehab but ramble. 

Oh, yeah. I'm in rehab. Not sure if that was clear or not.

"Do me a favor, Mr. Ellefson, take this notebook. I can tell talking is hard for you. But if you dwell on this forever, it will be absolutely acidic to your recovery process."

If you want to know what I think, fine. Here goes fucking nothing. 

Me and Dave have been getting high for years. How many years? Probably four or five. We wrote all of "So Far So Good" fucking high. Being high? It's awesome. It's something you can't get from anything other than a hit. When we started meeting new people, Chris and Gar, to be exact, we got introduced to some more good shit. Now me, being the little try-hard that I am, spent almost every waking moment I had with Dave Mustaine trying to impress him. If he cut a line of coke for me, I'd let him watch me snort it. And if anything, it was the fact that he was impressed that I was addicted to. If Dave needs anything at all he comes to me. I thought that the worst state I've ever seen Dave in was the night we first mixed speedballs, and he beat the living fuck out of Chris. That of course, was until the overdose.

It's a little show in a little city somewhere in bumble fuck Oregon, and Dave's dope sick from top to bottom. We spent all day yesterday smoking in the tour bus and whatever cocktail Dave had in his system fucked with him pretty bad. You'll never understand the horror that is dope sickness until you've played with a toxic cocktail threatening to murder you on stage. Was I feeling great last night? No. Of course not. I hadn't eaten a damn thing because I spent my pocket cash on a baggie of low-grade, cheap coke. But Dave… Goddamn. Even Marty wasn't doing fantastic. He would hardly touch the spirit but the smoke never fails to nauseate him. Nick wasn't in the bus with us. He was out on the town all day, and bless him for it.

Then comes nightfall. Dave isn't at all fit to play, right. I spent ten minutes before the show trying to peptalk him, but I could tell he was going to be miserable. Bright lights, screaming fans, general violence out in the crowd, trust me. It does not mix well with dope sickness. 

Second Dave stepped out on stage, he turned to me, and shook his head.

Disaster incoming. That gesture was my storm warning. 

Our set list was taped to the floor by Dave's mic. We're set to play Holy Wars first, of course, in honor of the new album. But when Dave is delayed, Marty begins. Marty sounds just fine. I sound fine too, but I don't feel it. Dave?

Dave just has no idea where the fuck he's supposed to be.

The crowd still gives Dave the benefit of the doubt, but when I look Nick in the eye, he knows it's over.

We're fucked. 

I don't remember much else from before the crowd started breaking through the barriers. We played a disaster of a show and the fans knew they deserve better. 

The fans called out and cursed at us and at Dave and at the venue for their money back. It's embarrassing as hell to disappoint the way we did and it makes my neck lock up in a cringe even recollecting it. But embarrassment wasn't it. Security rushed the stage and grabbed all of us. They took our instruments and rushed us away, promising they'll make sure nothing fucked up our equipment. God, and then…

Then Dave disappeared. He stumbled out into a room, one of the dressing rooms or something, and he completely dodged out of my view.

Fuck...okay. This is starting to get difficult. My hand doesn't want to write this. 

I tripped over my shoes while running back to Dave. I threw open the door, yelling for him, but the first thing I saw was Dave's head tilting back and his palm hitting his open mouth. 

"What the fuck did you swallow?!" I screamed, but his only response was a choking sound as he forced it down. I repeat myself, louder, as I grab him by the shirt. He stumbles against the wall and I stumble with him. 

Under his bangs I see his eyes. His pupils are gigantic. 

"What-THE FUCK-did you swallow?!"

Dave's face tells me he knows he's fucked, and his eyes flutter closed. That look he gave me it was a terrified, and apologetic look, but it disappeared as quickly as it came.

He slides down the wall until I'm grabbing onto him, holding his head and shoulders off the ground. 

Before I realize I'm crying, I screamed out for Nick and Marty. 

That, I was sure, was the end of Dave Mustaine.  
Death seemed determined to take him. It had lusted after him for quite some time and he'd done nothing to stop it. 

I kicked an empty valium bottle when I ran out to chase Dave's stretcher. 

Valium. Fucking Valium. A depressant. His fucking heart is going to stop. I've heard horror stories of speedball and Valium cocktails. They don't like each other much. There's already a confrontation, the coke wants to speed up your heart, the heroin wants to slow it down, and the Valium...it wants to stop it altogether. 

While I follow the security into the parking lot and the ambulance my fear and dope sickness get the best of me, and I fold over to vomit. 

He looked truly on the brink of death. His body, I could tell, it was in a panic. A confused heart that didn't know which order to follow.

By then the overdose has already caused Dave to piss himself and he has feverish sweat soaking his body. I don't know much about the potentially dangerous effects of Valium overdose, but I do know exactly what that speedball did. I was just scared that the Valium reignited it. 

We hit a bump in the ambulance, and Dave sputtered awake. His eyes never fully opened but I was grabbing him, trying to get his attention.

"Junior-"

"Dave! For fuck's sake, why?!"

All I could make out of his incoherent babbling it was my name. I didn't know if he was trying to answer my question, I didn't even know if he heard it. Seeing him like this seriously just...

I can't. I can't write this. 

 

 

He was dead. 

For two minutes, Dave was dead. I saw, I watched him die. I was sitting right across from the stretcher, behind the curtain. Nick's hands on my shoulders. 

They changed him into a hospital gown, prepared his IV, and then he just...

Died. 

I felt Nick grip my shoulders the second that heart monitor went flat. Silence, the whole hospital seemed to go completely fucking silent. Two minutes, man, that's a long fucking time if you think about it. In two minutes you think of absolutely anything and everything you could have, or should have said. Two minutes is enough time to understand that your best friend, your running partner, king of the fucking world Dave Mustaine, is dead. 

DEAD. 

But two minutes wasn't enough time for me to react. I just stared, wide-eyed, as the nurses scrambled around his bed. 

Then, for one instance, I watched as a man in white drove an adrenaline syringe into the dead middle of Dave's chest. 

He jolted. 

They gave him the shot, and the heart monitor began to sound again. 

Nick hit my shoulder for my attention as Dave began to cough, and choke. He gripped the edge of the bed, as if to stand, but his hand slipped and two nurses held him up. 

Nick couldn't hold me back anymore, I threw myself out of the seat and reached out for him. I nearly collided into a doctor, though...

"Leave him for a second," is all he said, while Dave was out of my view. I heard him vomiting, though-which is exactly what I'd hoped he would do. He needed to get that shit out of the system. It wasn't his typical drunk-puke though. It was choking and gasping for air. Still, everything moved in slow motion. Both Nick and Marty were holding me back, arm by arm. 

I think while I was thrashing myself back against my bandmates is when I finally grasped the severity of the situation. I don't think I'm going to be able to have Dave out of my sight ever again. I went from wanting nothing more than to impress him to feeling a constant need to protect him within a handful of hours. And that was, I fucking swear to myself, the absolute last time I will ever touch an impurity. 

 

~~~~~END OF JOURNAL ENTRY~~~~~

After Dave had been carted away for a once-over, he granted the remainder of Megadeth an explanation so far as what exactly their leader had put himself through. 

"We found a confusing mixture of opioids and cocaine in his system-can you tell me if you were speedballing?"

"Yes sir, Dave was speedballing," was all Nick said. David, dear poor David, was still quaking in his boots, staring at the shine of the linoleum floor. Marty had an arm around him, barred across his shoulders from behind. He mostly held him this way to ensure he wouldn't buckle over and break down sobbing in the middle of the hospital or something, maybe something worse. But David didn't want to be shivering alone holding his own arms. 

Junior caught bits and pieces of what the doctor was saying. However most of the substance of his explanation was drowned out by his pulse and the desperate way he was listening for any sign of Dave. 

"...depressants and stimulants...dangerous mixture...Valium, when taken with other drugs...harmful drugs...

...rehab.."

Dave's state shattered and his ears began to ring when he heard the word "rehab". 

"Doctor-"

He choked out, and Marty craned his neck to look at him. Nick looked down too. 

"Yes?"

"Are you sending Dave to rehab?" He asked, but the end of his question didn't tail upward like it should have. His tone was monotonous and dead. 

"Yes-that's what I said."

"Send me too."

"I don't believe I have a reason to-"

David reached into the pocket of his vest and pulled out the half empty baggie of coke, then two wadded up tissues used to hold his own Valium pills. 

His eyes never left the floor, but his hands were shaking around his drugs. 

"They're clean. It's just m-me and Dave. 

Two speedballs today. Two hits-..he might not have mixed his right."

"Sir-"

"If you send him you're sending me too."

"You have to understand that this isn't your fault, sir. His overdose was no one's fault but his own."

Junior stuffed the baggie back into his vest and lurched forward, clench-jawed. Marty held him back but a bit of anger flared within the hazel eyes of Junior; which now burned holes into the doctor. 

"Don't you dare fucking blame him for this shit."

"Taking the blame for something he did to himself is not a healthy way to deal with this."

"Insult him again doc, yeah, go a-fucking-head, say it again!"

Nick warned the doctor to remember himself, and Marty eased his thumbs in circles into Juniors' shoulders. 

He only shut his eyes to cool down and waited for Dave to come back into his view. 

 

\---

 

Junior looked absolutely mortified when he caught sight of Dave on the cot. His hair was sweaty and spread out all around him, covering his pale face. 

Dave turned his head and gave Junior a little smile. When he saw it, he lurched, and threw his arms around Dave's neck. 

"Son of a bitch- goddammit-" he mumbled, choking back feminine tears. Dave's hands were weak but he was able to find Junior with them and hold him back. 

"Why Dave-for fuck's sake-.." David whined, burying his face deeper in the crook of Dave's neck. He smelled heavily of chemical laden soap and salty sweat. 

"I am-...so so sorry Junior."

Junior's hands wandered into Dave's hair and his face, although hidden within it, contorted into a frustrated sob. But still no tears. 

"That doesn't answer my fucking question Dave."

Dave pat Junior's back so that he would let go. If he was going to answer him, he needed to answer to his hazel eyes. 

Still as David leaned away from Dave his fingers stayed planted to his shoulders. He was afraid to let go of him, even for a second. 

God, he was scared out of his wits. 

"I don't know. I didn't think this would happen."

Dave didn't exactly walk into his overdose with a speech prepared. But if he was honest, he did not intend to overdose in the first place. He wasn't trying to kill himself. He just wanted to get fucked up and hopefully forget about the people he let down. 

All he did was scare Junior half to fucking death. 

And, apparently, land himself in a rehab clinic.

Junior had to wipe his face free of tears before another tear dripped onto Dave's cheek. He looked away, up at Nick, and for the first time ever Nick looked...

Hurt. 

Dave and Nick definitely had beef. They didn't get along that well, but seeing Nick that hurt meant something to David. 

Marty, of course, was pretty sensitive. This didn't affect him as much as it affected Junior, of course, but he wanted to see Dave back on his feet. And for fuck's sake, he wanted the drugs up and out of their lives. 

David felt a hand wrap around his own and turned back to look at Dave. 

"You know where we're going?" He asked, quietly. 

Junior directed his huge eyes back to the doctor for an answer. And while he got it, he felt Dave rub little circles into his hand with his thumb. 

"We're moving you two down to the best clinic we have in our records. There's tons of good stories from there, we can guarantee-"

"Okay, where the fuck is it doc?"

"A..Arizona."

David dropped his head. 

"Fuck me. Ari-fucking-zona."

Dave lifted himself into a sitting position, despite the pain, and leaned his back on Junior's chest. 

If he was going to speak to the doctor about this ridiculous move, he wanted to make sure he remembered a face to beat the next time he was in Oregon. 

To weak to balance on his core, David was his back. 

"You're sure you can't find anything at home? We live in California, buddy, that's a pretty long way from home."

"I know, but you were flirting with death not even an hour ago. You need the best help we can give you."

Dave looked up at Junior. There were still frustrated tears staining his face, and his eyes were red and irritated. 

"I think we should get back to the bus and call it a night," Marty said, as he found it quite tiring with all this new information. Not only was he about to lose two band mates for Christ knows how long, they were going to either cancel their appearance in Europe or postpone the entire festival. 

Chances were, he was not going to play that fucking festival. 

And lord he was excited for it. 

 

...Junior remembered that phrasing. "Flirting with death". He was sure though, that death had been the one lurking in Dave's corner, rather than the other way around. 

Junior refused to believe that Dave wanted to die. 

Dave didn't even know what he was doing. 

Of course, the elephant in the room of Dave's near death experience caused quite the awkward stand-around waiting for the bus to be driven around to the hospital. 

David never left Dave's side, not even while he changed into his clothes on the bus. Not while brushing his teeth free of the taste of vomit, not while relaxing into his bunk. 

David stood around staring at the floor with concerning silence until Dave would speak. 

"Junior, you're freaking me out."

"I'm...sorry. I'm a little fuckin'...frazzled, right now." Junior spoke softly, and slowly. He was afraid to fuck up his words and accidentally speak the wrong thought. He had a lot on his mind, he thought it would be quite easy to say the wrong one. 

Dave crawled into the top bunk and held hair out of his face to see Junior. He was still in his jeans and shoes, standing against the wall, an arm barred across his stomach. 

"David.."

David looked up, a little shocked hearing Dave call him something other than "Junior" or "Douchebag".

"Why don't you sleep, man? Your eyes are sunken halfway into your head."

David pushed himself off the wall and sat at the edge of the bottom bunk. He couldn't see Dave, but Dave made sure he could hear him. 

"Get some sleep, alright? We're going down to Arizona tomorrow, apparently."

Junior was not excited in any sense of the word, but he'd be fucked if he was gonna send Dave down there on his own. 

As David slid his shoes off of his feet and dropped them onto the floor, he asked a question that took up half his energy to form. 

"What do you think would have happened if Chris and Gar were around?" 

"Shit," Dave started. "We'd have a gay group therapy session that never fuckin' ends."

David gave a weak chuckle as he struggled out of his jeans. 

"Why'd you offer to come with me? I don't think you need it."

Dave let one hand drop off the edge of the bed. Junior saw it hanging above him, and watched its every little move. 

"I'm worried half to fucking death you're gonna kill yourself." Junior said. It was the truth, hard to say as it was. 

Dave's hand opened and closed a few times, to send Junior a message. 

"Gimme your hand." 

Junior lifted one hand slowly until Dave felt around for it, and he directed Junior to grip his wrist. 

"You feel that?" Dave asked. 

"What?"

"Just hold it for a second."

Junior did as he was told and wrapped his hand around Dave's wrist. He was feeling for something, but he hadn't a clue what he was looking for. 

"I don't feel anything," 

"My pulse, dumbass. You feel my pulse?"

"Oh-, yeah, yeah I feel it-"

"Focus on that. 

I'm alive. I have a pulse and I'm alive. Don't think about anything but that, okay?"

Dave was right. 

"Okay-"

"I'm serious. You'll freak yourself out. I'm alive, Junior. I'm gonna sleep but I'll keep my hand out so you can feel it in case you start freakin' out."

Junior found it difficult to let go even while Dave was still awake and drifting. A good tactic, he supposed, being able to feel Dave alive if he needed to. 

And he did. 

Junior woke up every hour until morning to reach for Dave's wrist. And when he didn't see it at first at four in the morning, he panicked and threw himself out of bed. 

Turns out, Dave hadn't done anything but roll over and pull his arm back into the bed. 

Of course, Junior woke him up to give his wrist back. 

How the fuck am I going to fare in Arizona, Junior wondered, as he pushed his thumb against Dave's vein to get back to sleep. 

Dave sighed, disappointed in himself. He had barely gotten to sleep when Junior woke him. He was staying awake on purpose to squeeze his hand back. 

He fucked his running partner over good this time. 

He was broken and terrified and Dave could not blame him at all. If Dave had watched Junior die in that bed, he would have lost his fucking mind, the doctor would have most likely needed medical attention himself. 

Dave wouldn't have gotten sad. He would have gotten angry and scary and violent. 

Dave couldn't even begin to imagine how he would cope with losing Junior to something as frustratingly preventable as a drug overdose. 

Junior was too fucking pure. 

He squeezed his hand one last time before he felt Junior drift off again. 

This time Dave would wait until he got to feel him one more time before morning.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trying out a new format. Each chapter is going to hold a journal entry to further the narrative, if I can help it. I hope it works out.


End file.
